


Excuses, Excuses

by Aae



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Drinking, Fluff, Foreplay, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 04:29:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2638094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aae/pseuds/Aae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is looking for someone to distract him for a while. He finds Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Getting What You Need

**Author's Note:**

> This has been hanging around on my phone for a couple weeks, so I decided I'd post it. There's a second chapter to come, and I made it a series in case I decided to revisit it with additional drabbles/ficlets/whatever. I hope you like it xx Let me know - good and/or bad.

Dean would undoubtedly blame the alcohol when he woke up - or maybe he'd blame Lisa's crappy timing for pushing him to drink in the first place - but when he threw that first punch he was mostly doing it because he wanted to.  
  
There was probably a good excuse in there somewhere - the guy was being an asshole, he was getting handsy with the waitress, he had a big mouth and just wouldn't shut up - but Dean hadn't had any of those in mind when he turned to the guy at the bar and slammed his fist into his nose. He knew from the start it wasn't smart. Starting the fight was stupid, punching the guy straight out was stupid (Dean had been taught how to fight properly and that wasn't it), and going out on the anniversary of his mom's death and getting absolutely fucking hammered was the last thing he ought to be doing - didn't stop him though.  
  
The guy staggered back, a mix of outraged and shocked, but he fell into the brawl feet first and gave as good as he got.   
  
Dean was tossed out of the bar with a bloody nose, split lip, and bruised jaw, not to mention knuckles that ached every time he tried to use his hands. But the other guy didn't look much different.  
  
He wanted to go home. Not to his tiny apartment in the city; to their childhood home in Kansas, where the kitchen always smelled like his mom's cooking and his dad tucked him in bed at night with a story and an assurance that there weren't any monsters under the bed. He wasn't that kid anymore - he  _knew_  there were monsters out there now, far worse than the any his imagination could conjure - and that house wasn't there anyway. It'd been one of the things they lost to the fire, and was more symbolic to Dean than a tangible thing he wanted.  
  
He  _wanted_  to go home, but he'd settle for a quick screw with someone whose name would be forgotten before morning. Casual sex was like alcohol: a useful tool in the line of forgetting. Sometimes it was good, sometimes it was bad - though, honestly, even bad sex wasn't anything to complain about - but it was always a good distraction to drag him out of his own head for an hour or four.  
  
"Are you okay?" A low voice asked and Dean turned at once, blinking into blue eyes that were startlingly close and unsettlingly direct.  
  
The man was about Dean's height, less broad, less obviously muscular (though Dean had seen the sort of build guys could hide beneath badly fitting clothing) but there was something...not quite intimidating, and yet disquieting about him. He bore stubble across his lower jaw, and dusky dark hair in a pretty disarray like a bird with ruffled feathers. And then there were the piercing big blues.  
  
If Dean ever limited himself to a type it'd be that guy exactly. Physically, he was...Dean hesitated to say 'perfect' but he  _was_  stunning.  
  
"Am I...wha...?" Dean so astutely replied, still blinking past his first surprised moments of silent assessment.  
  
"Clearly your opponent caused some internal damage, too," the man commented, smiling faintly, more with his eyes than his mouth, "perhaps you have a concussion?"  
  
Oh. Right. The fight. "Ah, no," he replied, clearing his throat, "I'm fine."  _All the better for seeing you_ , he nearly said, but this guy didn't deserve secondhand pick-ups. "Just some cuts and bruises," he shrugged, absently reaching up to touch his own split lip, bruised knuckles throbbing with the movement.  
  
"Still, shouldn't rule out the concussion," the man replied, "probably best you don't spend the night alone - you don't seem the hospital-faring type."  
  
"Are you flirting with me?" Dean blurted, too befuddled for a brain to mouth filter - maybe he did have a slight concussion. It wasn't that no one ever flirted with him - 'cause they sure did - but not usually when he was looking such a state, and not when Dean hadn't even made a move yet.  
  
"Not if you don't want me to," the man replied, edge of his mouth twitching towards a real smile.  
  
"And what if I do?" Dean asked, trying not to sound demanding but not quite managing the playful tone he was going for either.  
  
"Then I have a loft apartment three blocks away," the man replied, that smile flickering across his face, before his expression fell back into cautious friendliness.  
  
"Lead the way," Dean said, gesturing with his arm. The man tilted his head to one side, like Dean was some shiny object and he a curious magpie, and then grinned wide enough to show teeth.  
  
He struck his hand out to be shaken. "My name is Castiel," he said, still smiling. "It is nice to meet you...?"  
  
"Dean. Winchester. It's good to meet you too, I guess." Was he nervous? Really? It was uncharacteristic of him, especially when he was in one of those moods; the self-destructive sort that usually entailed bad decisions and muddled patches of memory.  
  
"Follow me," Castiel said, walking down the street, and Dean followed, to the side and half a step behind.  
  
They didn't talk much on the way, but the time passed quickly and pleasantly. Castiel's building was unspectacular, though it was well-maintained and the elevator worked (unlike the one where Dean lived). They went up to the top floor like Castiel had said and then inside.  
  
The main room was large and mostly open-plan, with a long broad sofa facing the generous windows and a kitchen tucked into the left side. To the right were a pair of doors leading away, and there was a third door on the left side of the room that looked like a storage closet. It was nice: not awfully lived-in, and yet pleasantly simple.  
  
"Would you like a drink?" Castiel asked, gesturing for him to sit on the couch.  
  
"Just water," Dean replied, knowing he was just begging for a hangover if he didn't manage some fluids, and Castiel nodded and walked over to the kitchenette.  
  
Once he had the drinks, Castiel turned on some music Dean didn't recognize in the background and then sat beside him.  
  
Dean sipped at the pure-tasting water before looking over at the other man who was regarding him over a cup of what smelled like tea. "So, what was your plan in inviting me over here?"  
  
"If you don't know, maybe I wasn't clear enough," Castiel replied, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Or maybe, you don't actually want that right now."  
  
"Yeah," Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes, "I don't think so. I definitely want that, Cas."  
  
Castiel smiled warmly, "Ah, well, maybe it's not what you  _need_ , right now," he clarified, placing emphasis on the word. Dean tensed, he really wasn't in the mood for a spill-your-guts, find-the-root-of-the-problem, soul-searching discussion. Cas lifted his hands up as if in surrender, "You don't have to talk about it," he said placatingly, "we can just go to bed if you'd prefer...?"  
  
"Yes, please, that," Dean agreed immediately, and Cas just smiled, nodded and stood. He walked across the room, toeing off his shoes, and pushed open one of the doors on the right, revealing a generously-sized bedroom complete with double bed.  
  
Dean followed, lingering in the doorway to watch. Cas reached the bed and turned to face Dean, lips curving up when he spotted him leaning against the doorframe. He bent over, removing his socks, before standing and unbuttoning his white dress shirt. Each button revealed more of his torso, which was lean with muscle and bore the fading remnants of a summer tan, then he shrugged the fabric off and it landed by his bare feet. With deft fingers he removed his belt, popped the button of his slacks and dropped them, so he was standing before Dean in only silky boxers and a charming smile.  
  
He couldn't wait over there any longer. He kicked off his boots and dragged his T-shirt over his head in one pull. Like Cas, he was no bodybuilder, but his torso was clearly defined and his skin a deeper colour courtesy of so many summers working out in the sun.  
  
Dean went to remove his pants but Cas got there before him, unclasping the belt, fingers brushing Dean's abdomen as he lowered the zipper. Dean bowed forward, hands rising to slip into Cas' hair, and leaned into a kiss, mouths slow and cautious as they got each other's measure, Cas' hands still gripping the waistband of Dean's jeans.  
  
Cas turned them, walking Dean back until his thighs bumped the edge of the bed and then more until Dean was sprawled on the bed beneath him and he could climb on top, straddling Dean's narrow hips and pressing down low to keep kissing him, their bodies together from hip to chest.   
  
The kiss deepened, tongues licking into each other's mouths, hands wandering over bare chests and strong arms, breaths warm and gasping between them.  
  
Dean liked it when Cas' fingers teased over his sensitised nipples, and Cas practically moaned when Dean arched his hips and ground up into him.  
  
"Mm," Cas sighed, pulling back and licking his flushed lips, "off," he said, tugging at the jeans, and Dean lifted his hips so they could shimmy the pants down off his legs, tossing them into a heap with the rest of their clothes on the floor. He lowered himself again, settling their hard lengths together between the layers of their underwear.  
  
Dean's hands moved to Cas's boxers, trying to push them down, but Cas shuffled back, shaking his head with a smile, "Patience," he said. He lifted Dean's hands up by the wrists, slowly as if expecting resistance, and held them in place above his head. "Keep them there," he said, a sliver of command in his voice, enough to make Dean wonder what it would be like to be dominated by him - it was a good thought. Cas held them with one hand, and the other moved down, stroking lightly over Dean's skin, making him shiver. He kissed Dean's mouth, slowly, almost chastely, tongue stroking delicately over the broken skin, before kissing across his jaw, down his neck, tongue flicking out occasionally to taste his skin. He sucked at the joint of his neck and shoulder, teeth teasing the tender skin, and Dean shuddered, eyes falling shut. Cas didn't stop, mouth exploring leisurely, tasting and stroking and testing, fingers and lips and tongue laving his body, his other hand releasing Dean's to further the exploration.  
  
Dean sighed, and it was like a living thing leaving his body. His unknowingly tensed muscles eased, breathing evening out. He hadn't felt so...damn, if he knew the guy better he'd say he felt loved, but they'd known each other all of an hour.  _It's_   _probably_   _just the intimacy of sex that makes it feel like I've known him forever_ , Dean told himself, stomach quivering as Cas suckled on his protruding hipbone.

  
He opened his eyes, peering down his body at Cas, just as the other man flicked a glance up at Dean, pupils blown wide within bright blue irises. He couldn't help himself, he reached out, hands gripping Cas's arms, pulling him up his body until they settled together again, chest to chest. His fingers tangled in the soft thick hair of Cas's head, panting slightly into Cas's warm neck. He never wanted to move, with that somehow comforting and now familiar weight pressing down on him just right, those gentle fingers holding his skin, arms wrapped tight around where they could reach...he felt  _safe_  for the first in a long time.  
  
"Can we just...?" Dean whispered into skin that smelled of soap and just a little sweat. The burn of a blush threatened at the tips of his ears and he was cursing himself for wanting to stop there when Cas cut off his silent self-recrimination.   
  
"Yes," Castiel agreed, kissing lightly just under the edge of his jaw, and they settled comfortably against each other, not needing anything else- not even the words to express it.  
  
 _Coming here_ , Dean decided, slipping into sleep pressed against Castiel,  _was one of my best decisions in a while_.


	2. Getting Who You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel jumps to conclusions when he ought to be jumping Dean's bones - but that's a problem that's easily remedied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long-awaited (though it's only been three days and I'm well aware no one is probably waiting) second chapter. Will this be the end for this story? Maybe. And, if it's not, will the next installment be posted soon? Unlikely. I guess we'll wait and see. There's a whole ocean full of possibilities and I'm drowning. SEND HELP.

That first morning when Castiel woke up, face pressed against Dean's chest, softly rising and falling with his deep regular breaths, didn't exactly go as planned.   
  
It started perfectly. Well, aside from the return of Castiel's erection that was all the harder for not having been sated last night and was pressed against a lot of bare hot skin. But Cas was a grown man, he could handle morning wood as well as anyone else, subtly shifting his hips away from Dean as he removed himself from the bed.   
  
He slid off the bed, pulling the sheets up and over Dean who sank back into the pillows totally at ease. Cas smiled looking at the beautiful man in his bed, bruises now in their full purpling glory, but somehow only making him all the more attractive. Not to say that Castiel liked his pain, that would be callous; he just appreciated how the flaws made Dean Winchester seem more human. With a face that pretty and a gorgeous body, there was plenty there to make Castiel feel inadequate if he were given to feelings of self-deprecation, plenty to make him doubt the reality of this situation. He brushed his fingertips through Dean's short honey-brown hair and then walked into the kitchen to get some coffee brewing for them.   
  
The distinctive smell of freshly ground coffee was just filling the room when Cas heard the phone start ringing.   
  
It wasn't his own cell phone - the gaudy upbeat song wasn't one he recognised - but he traced it back to the sofa. More specifically, to the pocket of the leather jacket Dean had slung over the arm of the chair. He hesitated, wondering whether it was worse to let it ring out or answer for Dean. He fished it out of the pocket, blinking blearily at the bright screen before the Caller ID registered: Lisa, with the image of a pretty dark-haired woman with one arm slung over Dean's shoulder and her lips pressing a kiss onto the edge of his smiling mouth.   
  
He dropped the phone like it had burned, suddenly feeling hurt and annoyed.  
  
He didn't like cheaters. Disliked being used in that way more.   
  
But there had been something about Dean. Something beautiful and irresistable and real. He hadn't been able to help himself, even if Dean had told him last night that he was already in a relationship, Castiel couldn't say with any real certainty that he would've acted differently.   
  
It just changed how he felt in that moment.   
  
"Mornin'," a hoarse voice murmured, and Cas turned to see him in the doorway once again, underwear slung low over his sharp hips, hair a spiked mess and sleepy face still marked from the pillow. He'd never seen anything so lovely. He genuinely hated to ruin the moment, but...  
  
"Who's Lisa?" He asked, hating how his voice sounded. Pathetic.  
  
"Lisa?" Dean repeated, frowning. "No one. Why?"  
  
"Then why was no one calling you at eight o'clock on a Saturday morning?" He countered.  _God, I sound so infantile and jealous,_  Cas thought crossly.   
  
"Lisa's my..." He huffed, running a hand through his hair and then over his face. He blinked at Cas, smiling ruefully, "Lisa  _was_  my girlfriend, until last night."  
  
"Is this where you make some excuse about leaving her?" Cas asked doubtfully, eyebrows lifting. He'd been through this routine too many times before.   
  
"No," Dean replied, clearly trying not to snap, "this is where I tell you that  _she_  broke up with  _me_  last night, hence me being out drinking alone." He lifted one brow, "I know we've not talked much, but I do have  _some_  morals, y'know," Dean smiled, green eyes bright.   
  
Cas wasn't sure whether he felt more relieved or embarrassed, he picked the phone back up and handed it over, smiling apologetically. "I wouldn't doubt that unless I'd met men lacking in such morals," Castiel told him.   
  
Dean's eyes narrowed and he huffed out a breath, "Stupid lying assholes shouldn't have done that," he agreed, expression hard, then shrugged and smiled, "But if it means I get you all to myself, I can't complain too much," he finished. He took a few steps towards Cas, hesitating nearby, "That is, if...?"  
  
Cas smiled, unable to help his sudden and now totally justified happiness, and stepped towards Dean. He leaned in and kissed him, only lightly, conscious of his morning-breath, and leaned back to see Dean mirroring his happiness.   
  
"Do I smell coffee?" The slightly taller man asked, slipping a hand down Cas' side and edging around him towards the kitchen. Cas followed, still smiling, helpless in the little riptide of joy that had him following a few steps behind Dean.   
  
"There are cups in the cupboard," Castiel told him, and Dean hastened to get a couple out. "Did you want any breakfast?" he added over his shoulder.   
  
"Hm," Dean murmured, and when Cas glanced over he was busying himself with pouring the coffee. He returned the coffee pot to its holder and turned around, passing the blue mug (exactly the shade of Castiel's eyes; a present from his sister) to him with a smile. "What were you thinking?" he asked.   
  
"Some toast, perhaps? Unless-"  
  
"Toast sounds great," Dean cut in, sipping from his cup. He was half-leaning against the kitchen side, eyes slipping shut as he savoured the rich taste of the coffee, and Castiel had to actively force himself to busy himself with the bread and toaster so he would've go over there and do something lustful.   
  
He was just opening his mouth to ask Dean to get the butter when that phone rang again.   
  
Dean had placed it on the counter top and the vibrations buzzed loudly throughout the apartment. Castiel wanted to open the window, drop it out, and pretend like neither of them had heard it, but he knew rationally that Dean would need to talk to her sometime.   
  
"Lisa," Dean said, his voice a little gruff, and Castiel remained standing with his back to him listening intently to every word.   
  
"Like hell I was gonna go back there after what you said," Dean was replying, sounding vehment. Cas couldn't hear what she was saying, just the babble of a raised female voice coming out a little staticky from the speaker.   
  
"Are you kidding me? No. It's over, Lisa. You were the one who- No. No, don't you dare. Lisa.  _Lisa._ I don't care, alright? I'll be back for my things later but we're done." There was a long pause. Cas could hear the buzz of her voice, and he found himself silently wishing that whatever she was saying wasn't enough to change Dean's mind - however selfish that wish might be.   
  
"I mean it, Lisa. It's over." Her voice came through louder than ever, and Dean replied, "Well, fuck you too!" before ending the call with an audible click.   
  
They stood in silence in the kitchen for a moment and then-  
  
"Do I smell burning?"

 Cas jumped, eyes finally refocusing on the toaster in front of him and the two utterly desiccated slices of carbon sitting inside, smoking lightly. He took them out carefully, dropping the burning hot blackened toast onto the counter unhappily.  
  
He was annoyed with himself, and for more than just burning some toast.   
  
"I'm sorry about that," Dean murmured, and Cas heard him pad over, bare feet light on the tiles.   
  
"It's no problem, I understand-" Castiel stopped talking as Dean wound his arms around his waist from behind, bodies fitting snugly together and Dean's head tilting forward until his chin rested on Cas's shoulder, their cheeks brushing together lightly. Castiel let out his breath in a silent sigh, leaning back against Dean's body almost automatically. He could feel the warmth of Dean's skin seeping into his, could smell on Dean the same heady scent that had been all over Castiel's bed when he woke up.   
  
"I meant what I said," Dean said softly, his vaguely coffee-scented breath ghosting against Cas's neck just enough to make him shiver.   
  
"Which time? About Lisa and you being over? Or when you said you wanting to go to bed with me last night?" Cas breathed back, hardening in his boxers even as he thought about it.   
  
"Both," Dean replied, and Cas could hear the smile in his voice, could feel the curve of his upturned mouth as he pressed a kiss into Castiel's neck.   
  
Cas turned around in him arms, looking up into bright green eyes for a moment before he could manage a reply, "Lead the way," he said, and Dean grinned and walked them back towards the bedroom.   
  
Cas spared only the briefest of thoughts for the burnt toast on the counter and the coffee cooling in their cups.  _Breakfast can wait_ , he thought, following Dean down onto the bed eagerly,  _but this most certainly can't._

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I guess I've been writing a bunch of PWP lately and wanted to see if I could manage something a little less totally-all-about-the-hot-gay-sex for a change. S'little less porny than usual so I count this as a success!


End file.
